


Cold

by CuriousThimble



Series: Cold Hands, Warm Heart [5]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Origins
Genre: F/M, Ice Mage, Ice Magic, amell mage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 21:52:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble
Summary: When Leliana begins questioning Evette Amell's unusual powers, Alistair helps explain, forming a new bond between the Grey Wardens.





	Cold

“Why do you always wear gloves?”

 

Evette looks down at the grey gloves on her hands, then back up at Leliana, realizing that she must not know yet. She’s worn them so long she tends to forget them- and their purpose- much of time. “People find my touch unsettling,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion. Try as she might, she can’t help but keep her distance from her new companions; her experiences in the Circle have taught her that not many understand that her quiet demeanor isn’t the haughty attitude they perceive, but a terribly shy girl teased for being dramatically different from her peers. 

 

“Why is that?” the red-headed woman persists.

 

“My skin is cold,” Evette answers in a quiet voice, not looking at anyone. “It makes people think of dead and frozen things.”

 

“Has it always been that way?” Zevran asks, eyeing the layers of clothing she wears.

 

“I don’t know,” she says simply. “I don’t remember anything but the Circle and the cold.”

 

“Your harrowing must have been difficult,” Alistair says in a low voice. Evette looks over the fire at him- a heat she can’t quite feel- and meets his eyes. “Sometimes, when a mage chooses a specialization, they take on physical aspects of it,” he explains to the others. “Evette chose primal magic, ice specifically. I’ve seen redheads use fire as easy as breathing.”

 

Awed at his knowledge, she nods. “It was difficult.”

 

“So if you had chosen something else, like fire, you would be hot to the touch?” Leliana asks.

 

Evette shrugs. “I am told I have always been this way.”

 

“Do you feel cold?” Leliana asks. 

 

Evette looks over at Wynne, hoping the older mage will answer for her, but she just keeps knitting and listening. “Not exactly,” she says. “I cannot always tell the difference heat and cold. In extreme, both may burn. I can become overheated, but it merely uncomfortable.”

 

“That is how it is with some,” is all Wynne adds.

 

Evette wishes she knew how to interact with these people. Leliana is bright and warm, Zevran is laughter made flesh, even Sten yields some of his stern ways after a time. But...she doesn't know how. She’s never been good with people- she had always been too shy for children to want to play with her, and her ease with magic made her teachers keep her at a nervous distance. As a child, she had been so distant and chilled that others had teased her mercilessly, calling her Tranquility until she simply quit trying.

 

“I think I will go for a walk now,” she says, standing and walking away quickly.

 

“Wynne,” she hears Leliana say, “is she...touched? She is so...well, cold.”

 

“No,” Wynne says gently, watching Evette walk away. “She’s just very shy. The elder enchanters liked her, but she did not make friends easily, and didn’t always understand subtleties. Now she finds it difficult to speak with people. Give her time, she is sweeter than you think.”

 

“What was she like in the tower?” Alistair asks.

 

“Bright, serious in her studies. Jowan was her only friend, and...well, he and Irving both used her. I imagine the betrayal has her more skittish than ever.”

 

“Duncan said he had to conscript her,” Alistair adds. “To keep her from the templars.”

 

“What did she do?” Leliana asks with scandalous glee. 

 

“I shouldn't say,” Wynne says. “It is her tale to tell.”

 

Alistair gets to his feet and walks off in the same direction Evette went in.  _ I know what it’s like to be lonely, _ he thinks,  _ maybe she just needs someone to talk to who understands. _

 

***

 

“I’m not tranquil,” she mutters, flicking her fingers and covering a nearby bush with frost. “I can feel things.”

 

“I know.”

 

She turns quickly, her expression shrouded. “What are you doing here?”

 

Alistair rubs the back of his neck and smiles shyly. “I wanted to see if you were all right. You seemed upset.”

 

“I’m not tranquil,” she repeats dumbly. “I can do magic. You’ve seen.”

 

“I know,” he says. “When I was in training I saw tranquil mages. I’ve heard children making fun of each other, calling them Tranquility- they did it in the abbey, too.  Is that what they called you in the Circle?”

 

“I…” She hesitates, unsure how to ask this without sounding like a child. “Alistair, is there something wrong with me?”

 

Alistair shakes his head. “No. You’re shy. Some people are.”

 

“I don’t really like talking with people,” she says, putting her hands behind her back. “I don’t know what to say, or why people say what they don’t mean.”

 

He smiles, warm and bright in the moonlight and offers his hand. “Well if we walk, you won’t have to talk. I’ll do the talking, and you can just ignore me if you want.”

 

_ That sounds so nice. _ “I- I think I’d like that.” She starts to put her hand in his, stopping just before they touch. “You don’t want me to touch you,” she says nervously. “I’m too cold, even through the gloves.”

 

Before she can pull away, Alistair grabs her hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. “No you aren’t, Vette.”


End file.
